


Too Little, Too Late

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One week after Dick Grayson's "death," Tim Drake makes a visit to Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Little, Too Late

Tim Drake didn’t want to knock on the door, so he stood outside, alone in the hallway, staring at the floorboards. One minute, two minutes, five— He’d be ready soon. He could do this.  
Just one more minute to collect himself, then he would go inside.  
Of course, one minute didn’t make it any easier to breathe around the tightness in his chest. It didn’t loosen his shoulders or stop his hands from shaking, but it gave him enough time to plaster a smile across his face. He tapped on the door.  
Almost immediately, a young woman pulled it open. “Tim?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I’m Joey.”  
“Nice to meet you.”  
“You too.” She pushed nervously at her blond hair. “Do you want to come in?”  
_No_. He nodded anyway and stepped inside the door.  
And there it was: Dick’s old apartment. Tim stood on the threshold for a few seconds, taking it in— just your average, low-rent living space with a tiny kitchen and a smudged window pane. There was a couch in the corner (Tim had to push back the image of Dick lounging across it, upside down, the way he always did), and a few chairs propped around a coffee table. At least it was up high. Dick would have liked that.  
A young man appeared from the hallway with a stack of cardboard boxes— he set them on the coffee table and held out a hand. “Hey, I’m Michael.”  
“Tim.”  
“I hope it’s okay that we called,” said Joey. “It’s just that we’ve got another renter coming in, and you were the first person on his contacts list, so…”  
“So we figured you would want his stuff,” Michael finished. “He didn’t leave that much, honestly, but it’s here if you want it. We haven’t disturbed his room since… well, you know.”  
Tim did know, thanks.  
“Anyway,” said Joey. “I’ll um, show you where…” She trailed off, gesturing down the hallway. “It’s back here.”  
Tim followed her to an open doorway. “We’ve got some boxes if you want to use those,” she told him. “I think there’s a duffel bag in there already.”  
“Thanks.”  
“If you want a hand, Michael and I would be happy to help out.”  
“That’s okay,” said Tim. “I think I’d prefer to be alone.”  
“Right, great.” Joey was halfway back to the kitchen when she turned around. “Listen, if you don’t mind me asking— Did you know? About the Nightwing thing?”  
“Oh.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, of course. That’s actually how I met him.” More or less, anyway.  
“I’m so sorry.”  
“Yeah.” Tim had to struggle to keep his voice steady. “Anyway, I’ll just—” He stepped inside the room and pulled the door closed behind him.  
The first thing he noticed was the bed— unmade with the sheets strewn everywhere, pushed to the bottom, falling off the edges. One of Alfred’s good pillowcases was wrapped around a tangled lump of pillow— Dick must have lifted that from the manor before he left the city. The hilt of a knife was poking out from underneath it.  
There was a pile of folded clothes sitting on the dresser with a laptop balanced precariously on top and a stack of coupons lying next to it. Red numbers blinked from a clock on the night stand— Tim wondered if the alarm still went off every morning, in the empty room with no one to turn it off. The duffle bag was lying on the floor.  
There wasn’t much else.  
Tim stood inside the door, breathing deeply. _Come on, Drake, pull yourself together._ It was just an abandoned apartment. He could be in and out in twenty minutes if he hurried.  
Alternatively, it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a few seconds. Tim sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the laptop onto his knees. It lit up immediately when he opened it, asking for a password. The desktop was a picture of Damian.  
_Oh god._ Tim set the computer back on the dresser and sank his head into his hands. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t— One week wasn’t long enough. He should have waited. He should have known better.  
But that was his life, wasn’t it? That was his mistake, over and over again. It echoed in his head every time he thought back to last week and the hell it had become. He’d been with the Titans when the screens lit up. They’d watched it together, along with the whole world— _His real name is Richard Grayson._  
And then he’d panicked. He’d just… run in without a plan, without a second thought, and he’d failed. Dick was dead. He couldn’t save him.  
Tim was supposed to have a plan— he _always_ had a plan, but the one time he needed it most…  
It wasn’t fair. He’d lost so many people. Why couldn’t he protect them? He was supposed to be _smart_. He’d been trained by Batman, for Christ’s sake— he should be good enough to save them.  
Deep down, Tim always knew it was a lie. No one can live like they do for long— it’s only a matter of time before the odds run out. Every day is a clock, ticking down the hours, the days, the years if you’re lucky, but someday the alarm goes off. Time runs out. They’re all going to die.  
Tim wasn’t a praying man, but in that moment, he knew what he would ask.  _Please let me be next._


End file.
